Bile, Bitter, and Cold
by Re'Becca Jamison
Summary: (Side installment of RebellingStagnation's Geronimo series) Christmas was... complicated. It was always complicated with Negaduck. Especially when Gosalyn was involved. Especially since he went missing for years on end. Especially since Quiverwing Quack rebuilt the Negaverse in his absence. Especially since no one had time for the recently tortured duck.


Christmas was… complicated.

Especially this Christmas. No, the day wasn't here yet, but the Lord of the Negaverse could feel it coming, the cold and snow and static in the air like a shrill whistle before a tornado touched down. And Christmas was a tornado, a tornado of Christmas trees _with feelings_ , black ribbons, little plastic skulls, and gifts. Well, _gift_. Gosalyn hadn't been brave enough to give him _gifts_ yet. If there was one day out of the entire year - heck, one month - that was a tornado, Christmas was it, and Gosalyn, that stupid redheaded green-eyed bow-and-arrow-wielding-superhero Gosalyn, was the gale winds kicking it up and throwing it all around.

She loved Christmas. Negaduck hated Christmas.

But he liked her.

He cared about her.

Christmas wasn't all _that_ bad.

But knowing that she spent it alone – no, not alone, but without him…

It almost made him want to escape back to Oblivion to beat the Christmas pudding right out of Stellar himself.

A smirk kissed his chapped lips – when had the wind picked up? – before he could stop it completely. Of course, the mental image of a big, holly-christened dish of muddy, gelatinous mass neatly carved into his father's image would bring a smile to anyone's face. But still, he glanced around the empty streets and tugged his coat more tightly around him, he did have a reputation to uphold. Especially since he was back.

From somewhere – practically everywhere, he heard a small buzz, an electric buzz, and froze, feet mid-step on the ice beneath them. His feathers stood on end and he felt shivers run up his back. Finally, he broke his head free from its trance and twitched it this way and that, looking desperately for the source of the buzz. Some power lines overhead, he realized, were the source. Power lines, for the heaters and lights that the residents would be especially attached to since it had gotten so crazy cold and windy all of a sudden.

He wanted to tear them down, stop the buzzing, and scrub the tingling feeling out of his skin. But Gosalyn had done so much to rebuild – to build the Negaverse while he was gone. She had constructed a system, repaired the water and power, and brought some feeling of permanence to the city. Their city. Her city. Whoever's city it was, it certainly wasn't his anymore. It hadn't been his in a –

Negaduck swore profusely and hissed, collapsing to his hands and knees and gripping his foot with his claws. They had frozen to the ground during his spell, and ripping them up had hit a nerve, a nerve deep down inside his skin. A nerve that stretched up from his sole to his ankle and leg and through his side and into his brain and straight for the trauma he'd locked deep, deep down. He had had three years of running from _him_ to hide the pain and injuries _he_ had done to Negaduck during his brief stint in prison, and had locked the doors with every peg of hatred and rage and commitment and protectiveness he could.

Suddenly, because of a stupid frozen puddle, a stupid humming power line, and a stupid old nerve that would probably never fully heal, the pegs had rattled.

* * *

Negaduck clenched his fists together again, messaging his palms with his dirty, burnt fingernails. Well, which ones he still had. The touch sent sparks of fire around his curled fists and up his arms, but it was pain that was easy to focus on. And though intense, it was brief, and was a far acceptable substitution for the lacerations on the bottom of his feet, the razor cuts on the back of his legs, which were pressed against the metal chair he'd been wrestled into, and even the bruises from the metal baton. His condition was humiliating at best, but in the loneliness, he let a smirk tug at his sore lips. It _had_ been satisfying to get a few blows in on the guards that had restrained him.

Of course, the only reason Negaduck had even been able to grab and kick at the guards was because _he_ wasn't there. _He_ would have demanded immediate submission, and _he_ would have gotten it. The thick cuts across the bottom of the masked duck's feet were a testament to just how often _he_ got _his_ way.

The cuts had been ripped back open in the fight, and though Negaduck was desperate to lift them off the filthy, cold floor of the isolation cells - he could deal with the pain, but an infection was beyond his current pay grade - his legs shook too badly to continue to wrestle them into the air. In fact, he took another inventory of his body and all his injuries and decided one thing: _everything_ was shaking. In a few days, however, he'd be too weak to do even that. But for now, while he had been gifted with the luxury of being alone, he let himself shake. Maybe if he kept shivering he'd generate some body heat for the first time since... three days ago? Certainly since the waterboarding. And maybe the body heat the shivering generated would help him combat the constant cold settling in. If _he_ wanted Negaduck dead, which the young Mallard seriously doubted, _he'd_ probably get it long before _he_ wanted if Nega didn't get some heat soon.

But Negaduck wouldn't die if _he_ didn't want him to. He was pretty sure someone was pumping nutrients into him while he was unconscious, which was indescribably rude. Not as rude as the dependency and pseudo-control _he_ had "given" Negaduck over their little talks, but still, very rude. Even Negaduck didn't mess with people when they were unconscious. He knew how dangerous it was to mess with a tortured body when the body couldn't respond to him. His captors, however, didn't seem to know this, or care. Or maybe, since Negaduck knew _he_ did, it wasn't necessary that they did as well. _He_ always got exactly what _he_ wanted.

Tending to Gosalyn's injuries was different. It was always different when it came to Gosalyn. Her injuries would need to be cleaned with alcohol and stitched up, joints would need to be reset and bones straightened and splinted, and it was easier to do it to her himself when she was unconscious - or at least asleep - than having to deal with her pained winces and grunts. Ethics be darned. He couldn't stand to see her in pain. But maybe he should let her experience the pain while awake, just once. Or maybe just some. A little. Just enough to be a good lesson to Quiverwing to stop throwing herself into parked cars when the roads were iced over. There were so many lessons he had yet to teach her that that moron Dipwing certainly wasn't going to.

Like to stop letting him tend to her injuries while unconscious. The amount to which she trusted him ... It was dangerous. If she got used to ignoring him, who knew how many other violators she might ignore -

A shiver and cough cut off Negaduck's thoughts, though they weren't from the cold. The fading feeling in his fingers, however, was.

He was so cold.

Maybe he'd chose the electrocution today instead of the cuts. Of course, his feet were already pretty cut up, so Negaduck was sure _he_ would have to move on to some other option just to keep things fair. Life wasn't interesting without a choice.

After all, _he_ had made one thing very clear throughout all the torture and loneliness:

Negaduck always got what he wanted.

* * *

Cursing, and drawing his Glock for extra safety, Negaduck climbed to his feet and stormed further down the street. The last thing he needed was the citizens in this new St. Canard to know how much of a baby he was. If a little ice was enough to knock the All-Mighty Negaduck off his feet, he didn't stand a chance at reclaiming his throne.

His body had healed while trapped in Oblivion. The cuts on his feet were scarred over and rough. The bruises, cuts, scrapes, burns, and whatever else he had gone through had had more than three years to heal.

And besides, he was Lord of the Negaverse. The Crime Master. Singular Ruler of St. Canard, both of them. Public Enemy Number 1 of one and King and Ruler of his own. He had a city of criminals that would leap when he snapped his fingers, a partner that had turned this, and countless other universes over looking for him, and his sworn enemy was Darkwing Duck.

Okay, not his biggest accomplishment, but still. Worth noting.

The point was, he was NEGADUCK. He was there, and _he_ was not.

And Negaduck didn't have _scars_.


End file.
